my feelings are easier to project when they are muffled
by Norwegian nu-disco
and when there is no thought
more complex than dance or warmfuzz we will
fall asleep in a bed of ten with no regard for our morning breath

we will line up for hours bopping
to the sound of indistinguishable rhythms cold
sponsoring the outlandishness in our movements tracing
a consistent pattern right down to my socks

rolling deep house pumping through the veins in my neck
my aching shoulders and searing crotch
dancefloor liberty written in the glitter on your face
etched into the shadows of your Aphex Twin Grin
you would shout into my ear
that you dig this one you like this sound this is the shit you like

harm minimisation in the form of high-end primer
designed to glue black and gold to the eyelids
and prevent the internal chaos bleeding through unannounced
like a thief in the night

the song blared out somewhere between
the cessation of social anxieties and seven in the morning
we spilled out into the Market looking like
Jungian party archetypes – all facepaint
and wild proclamations of affection

but can i carry an interesting conversation
when i am bleeding into the couch amorphous
shivering in a fur coat or am i nothing more than smiles
brewed from positive momentum
in my chest behind the teeth?